


free

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: written forjonsa kink week// day two: adulteryJon Snow was laid flat on his back beneath the featherbed that was shared by Lady Stark and Lord Hardyng. And he was completely naked. And, if he were caught, he would likely be executed. But the worst part of it all was he would do it all over again.





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Jon Snow was laid flat on his back beneath the featherbed that was shared by Lady Stark and Lord Hardyng. And he was completely naked. And, if he were caught, he would likely be executed. But the worst part of it all was he would do it all over again.

Sansa was breathing heavily, too heavily. He could hear it from even so far hidden beneath the bed. He wished he could reach a hand up to kiss her fingers and calm her down. Better still, he wished he could lie in the bed beside her and make love to her without shame and fear of being caught. That he could be King beside her. But that was not his place.

They were always more than careful, choosing instead to take the twisting corridors and looping hallways to avoid even a single servant during their journeys to her apartments. He only broke away to her chamber when the castle was dark as pitch and all the maids and masters had quit to their beds. Only when it was silent and safe. Jon was sure there was not a single person who knew about their relationship, save the Gods themselves.

Despite the stress and the nervousness and the longing ache, it was worth it. It would all be worth it even to touch her for just one moment each year. It would be worth it even to touch her for just one moment in a lifetime.

Harrold had returned home four days in advance of when his letters had said. Sansa and Jon had not been expecting him, nearly caught together in her bed by an incoming servant. Luckily the maiden had knocked loud enough to be heard over Sansa’s cloying moans. Jon had clapped a hand over Sansa’s mouth, stopping suddenly and jarringly.

The Lady of the house had heard the knocking maid then. Sansa had sat up so quickly that she had fallen from the bed and to the speckled marble floor, letting out a cry at the sudden pain and jarring surprise. She looked panic stricken, the bright colour that had built up in her cheeks suddenly draining.

“Y-yes?” she called to the maid, struggling to right her askew bedclothes, which had been pushed aside by desperate, grasping fingers.

“I beg your pardon, Lady.” The maid called, her voice muffled by the heavy oak door that separated she from the frowzy pair. “Lord Harrold has returned home, my lady. He wishes to call upon you for the night.”

A knife of fear twisted in Sansa’s belly. The servants would be hurrying about the castle to prepare it for their Lord’s return. There would be no easy way for Jon to slip away and no easy justification to excuse his behaviour in her private chamber so late at night.

“Thank you!” Sansa had called back, dismissing the maid. After a pause they heard footsteps retreating, leaving them once more alone, if only for a few minutes more.

“What are we going to do?” Sansa asked, looking horrified. Her chest heaved, all the breath in her lungs knocked out by fear. The back of her head had been reduced to a half matted, half wild array of dark hair, the pins and clips she had once worn scattered around the chamber by Jon’s hungry fingers.

They had tried the wardrobe, but it was too full. Tried the bathing chamber but it was too empty. With nothing to hide behind and nothing to duck into Jon was left with only one option.

He pushed aside the set of traveling trunks that had been shoved beneath the bed and slid into the small space. They had been so frantic and fearful that neither had thought to remind the oblivious Jon of his state of undress. He had not even thought about until it was too late. As Sansa had struggled the right the room of its mess she had hidden all of their discarded clothes, moving so quickly that Jon had not seen what she had done with them.

The blankets that hung from the side of the bed impeded Jon’s view but successfully hid him behind a layer of thick cotton and fur, concealing him from sight.

With a short, firm rap on the door Jon knew Harrold had arrived. Sansa, struggling to regulate her breathing, called out to bid her husband enter. Jon could see Lord Harrold’s boots coming toward him, perfectly clean and polished, unmarred by even a speck of mud, despite the mass of muck dug up by the unending rain of the previous days. They were the boots of a proper lord.

“My sweet.” Said Harrold, a sly smirk on his face. Jon could see him bow to his wife, short and cursory. “I do not mean to interrupt your rest. I merely wished to show you what I brought from Silverhill.”

He heard a low rustle and the shifting of fabric before a small box was presented to Sansa, no larger than the palm of her hand. With a polite smile Sansa removed the small ribbon from the box and opened its lid. Jon’s stomach turned. “It’s lovely.” She announced. Later Jon would found out it was a shining silver comb, inlaid with sapphire and freshwater pearl. It made Jon furious. “I am so pleased.”

The only gift he had ever given her was a small gilded hairpin and it had cost him the salary of six months work.

At once Jon felt whips of hot panic snap through him. Behind Harrold stood a beige upholstered chair against the wall, decorated with a few delicate white roses and embroidered sprigs of flowers. Extended halfway from beneath the seat was a single boot. It lay on its side, begging to be tripped over, begging to be seen.

Jon could only watch in horror as Harrold stood with his back to the chair. When he made to quit the chamber he would see it. Surely he would demand to know whose boot it was, the leather so dirty and scuffed that with a single look the Lord would be able to tell it did not belong to him.

He laid there for a long while as they spoke, his skin peppered with gooseflesh, his breath struggling to remain uneven. He feared Harry would drop something and bend to retrieve it. He feared Harrold would see the boot.

But most of all he thought of Sansa.

His skin smelled of her. He could still taste her sweet lips on his, feel the way she had run her tongue along his bottom lip and smiled when he had commented that it was tickling him. He could feel her weight atop him, the way her silken underclothes had bunched up beneath his hands.

An eternity seemed to pass before Harrold beat a retreat, commenting that he should leave his wife to her beauty sleep. Jon held his breath as Harrold crossed the room and made toward the door. Suddenly he stopped.

In that moment Jon made his peace with the Gods, begging forgiveness for his adultery and sins. He could imagine the guards pulling him out from under the featherbed and dragging him to the gallows. He knew it was what he deserved.

He had spent months thinking what he would do should they be caught. He would take the blame upon himself. Knowing Sansa, she would try to protest, but he would make her quiet. He would say whatever needed to be said to ensure her innocence. He would say that he had forced her, that he had threatened her with blade or knife. Whatever needed to be said, he would say it.

“This is a lovely colour.” Said Harrold absently, commenting on the beige armchair. “It was a fine choice for this space. I think Mya will love it.”

“Aye.” Said Sansa. “I believe she will.”

When the door was closed behind him Sansa waiting a few moments before springing to the door and turning the lock. Jon slipped out from beneath the bed and she helped him to his feet, finding his legs were numb and tingling from so long in one position.

“Are you okay?” they asked in unison. The colour slowly began to return to her cheeks. Her fingers moved absently along his arms, her free hand moving to knot her fingers through his.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said. He kissed her brow softly.

Sansa looked up suddenly, her eyes glowing. “We should run away.” she said, pulling at his arm urgently. Jon paused as he put on his breeches, drawing them out from where they had been hastily stuffed beneath Sansa’s pillow.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“We could go to Riverrun.” She said. “Or King’s Landing or Meereen. Anywhere. _Anywhere_ but here, Jon. You and I. Just you and I.” she said. Her voice was pleading, the way her brows furrowed making his stomach turn.

Jon opened his mouth to say that they could not run away. That it would be foolish to leave a life of luxury for a life that he could give her. She would go from living in a castle to living in a hovel, from a Lady to a common peasant. But in that moment Jon found he didn’t care about any of it. He only cared for the fact that they would be free. Together and free.

It was nearly four months before they even spoke about Highgarden. They had stolen away in the midst of the night, carrying nothing with them but the clothes on their backs. Jon later found out that Sansa had taken one more thing, a single silver hairpin.

For the rest of their years Sansa worked as a seamstress and Jon a blacksmith, making a modest living in the city of Sunspear. They were completely uninhibited, able to love each other as publically and freely as they desired. Able to raise their children as their own instead of in secret, as Sansa had once feared she would have to, pretending Jon’s child was Harry’s.

Every day Jon thanked the Gods for their luck that they were able to escape the city, able to leave behind all the horrors they had endured since leaving Winterfell. By the grace of the Gods they were able to start a new life, one happier than they ever had. _Together and free_.


End file.
